


Hamilton Watches Hamilton: A Study in Character Development

by Weissnichtwo (LoudenSwain713)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexuality, By "period-typical" I mean Jefferson typical, Can we call it canon if it's BASICALLY historical?, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Characters Watching Hamilton, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff, Gay, Gen, Happy, I mean, I say happy..., M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Protectiveness, Sad, Sebastian is from the future, Though George won't get off the hook either, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, To a point, Very seriously, Well - Freeform, everyone dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwain713/pseuds/Weissnichtwo
Summary: Sebastian Miranda grew up surrounded by the legacy of his father's magnum opus, Hamilton: An American Musical.  He surrounded himself with studies of history and government, and when a highly experimental time machine is invented, he seizes his opportunity to fix the many atrocities in America, starting from the very beginning: the Founding Fathers.He just never expected to fall in love with someone from the past, someone he could never have.





	1. Chapter One: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few historical inaccuracies here. Most are intentional and fall under what I will call artistic license. Some are not, and if any of y'all out there know anything about history and I get anything wrong, feel free to tell me. I'd appreciate the contribution.

The room is quiet, and then it is not.

A group of about a dozen Revolutionary War figures appears in the middle of a room bordered on one side by sofas, coffee tables, and beanbag chairs and on the other by a carpeted area before a large screen embedded into the wall. Their shocked breaths fill the silence before tense, scared questions splatter the air.

“What?”

“Where are we?”

“General Washington?”

“John, are you well?” Alexander asks, keyed in, rushed and frantic at the sight of his lover covered in gunpowder and mud.

Laurens, though sweaty and grimy and clearly exhausted, smiles at the man, looking ecstatic. “All the more that you are in front of me, mon coeur.”

Hamilton just grins all the wider, seemingly oblivious to Jefferson’s horrified stare and Washington’s knowing glance to Mulligan and Lafayette. They embrace, long enough for even the non-French speakers to become intrigued.

It is then that they notice the stares, and their smiles snap straight immediately.

Hamilton and Laurens fix their gaze on Washington. “Your Excellency, sir!” they almost shout, straightening to attention.

Washington chuckles. “At ease, boys,”

The informal response, grouped with the barely-there snickers of Mulligan and Lafayette, allows the men to relax.

“Do none of you have the slightest inclination as to where we are?” the General asks after a beat, looking from face to face.

The group answers negatively.

“Is it not a good idea then, to introduce oneself to others so we may work together to get out?”

The group looks around and shrugs. “I am Alexander Hamilton,” Hamilton starts, chest puffing up, much to Laurens’ exasperation. He’s told his Alexander to get out of the line of fire many times, as much of a hypocrite as he was.

“John Laurens,” he says, nodding at the group. Always right behind his Alexander. If he could, he would’ve gripped his lover’s hand, but he can not, so he hopes the look he shares with Hamilton is enough. It never is.

“Elizabeth Schuyler,” a young woman says from the fringe of the group, two other young women surrounding her.

“Angelica Schuyler,” another young woman says, her appearance similar to that of Eliza’s.

“Peggy,” the youngest girl says, little more than a teenager, shorter by more than a head from her older sisters, her voice shaking.

“A pleasure to meet you, mesdemoiselles,” John greets, and, despite the grime covering him, his smile shines so brightly that the women are put immediately at ease. Peggy smiles back at him.

“Marquis de Lafayette, at your service,”

A man across the room jerks his head to look at Lafayette. “Thomas Jefferson,” Recognition lights in the Frenchman’s eyes. He smiles and nods pleasantly to Jefferson.

“James Madison,”

“Hercules Mulligan,”

“My name is George Washington, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, all of you,” the General says, nodding politely at the room. “However, there is still one young man yet to introduce himself.”

Everyone looks to a young man Peggy’s age. “I am _so_ confused,” he says. “My name is Philip Hamilton and...you are all _way_ too young.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Alexander asks, voice shaky as he glances from John to his son. “I don’t have a son. Certainly not one your age.”

Phillip studies him. “No,” he murmurs, confused. “You don’t.” He pauses. “My parents are Alexander Hamilton and Elizabeth Schuyler but you don’t even know each other, do you?”

The stunned Alexander and Eliza shake their head, glancing warily at each other. She is certainly beautiful, Alex thinks, but she doesn’t hold so much as a match to John’s beauty. “What are you saying? That you’re from...the future?”

Philip shrugs, looking nervous suddenly. He has realized who this John Laurens was, that he dies, that he and his father-

“I don’t know. I was just walking home from school and the sky wavered in that sort of hazy way it does in the summer, but it’s the middle of winter, and the world shrunk to a pin and suddenly I was...here.”

Eliza looks at him, explains how she got here, and as she does so John leans over to Alexander. “Well, he is certainly your son, my dear Alex,” he whispers, mirth covering up the uncertainty in his eyes.

Hamilton frowns. “Yes, but I don’t _want_ him to be. I cannot imagine his conception taking place.”

Laurens shifts. “We do not know what the future holds.”

“It does not hold _that_ ,” Alexander spits, his words louder than he intended. Lafayette looks at him pityingly, shaking his head sadly.

Philip stares at him. John steps back, shocked. “Alexander, surely you don’t mean that, “ he says gently.

Hamilton glares at his son. “I do,”

Silence permeates the air and no one wants to break it. Eventually, it is not a member of the group that speaks, but an outsider.

“I was wondering how long that would take,” a young man chuckles, sadly, stepping from a previously unseen doorway. “The name’s Sebastian Miranda. And yes, I’m the one who brought you here.”

Washington looks at the boy, examining him. “Why?”

Sebastian’s face lights up. “I’m glad you asked! For starters, I am from the year 2033.”

Jefferson snorts. “No you’re not.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Right, and Philip here _isn’t_ from the future?”

Jefferson has no response to this.

“Hmm. That’s what I thought. Look, I know this is a lot to take in. It’s hard to believe, yeah. But I’m from two hundred and fifty years into the future, and I gathered you all to learn from the future and change it, if you can.”

“That’s ridiculous. No one can change the future. It’s set into stone. And how did you even _do_ this? What powers do you possess to be compared to Providence?” Eliza asks, voice sharp, shocking Jefferson and causing her sisters to smile.

Sebastian’s brow furrows before he laughs. “Oh, you mean-no. Ha, no. There’s this machine that was built that allows persons to travel through time. It’s complicated, with a bunch of mathematics and physics and such, but long story short it allows me to possibly correct some of America’s greatest tragedies.”

“Tragedies? Such as what?” Washington asks, inherently interested in the health of his country.

Sebastian hesitates. “I fear I should not expose such things, sir. The space-time continuum is delicate enough as it is.”

“You speak most interestingly,” the General notes.

“With all due respect sir, such things are expected across a distance such as two hundred years. Now, I gathered you to watch a musical written about one of the Founding Fathers, Alexander Hamilton specifically.”

“Me?” Hamilton asks, shocked into speech once again.

“ _Hamilton_?”

Hamilton shoots Burr a glare. “I’ll have you know, Aaron, that there are plenty of reasons why a musical would be about me.” He glances back to Sebastian. “Though, what is a musical?”

Sebastian grins cheekily. “It’s a play, but instead of the dialogue being spoken, most of the story and conversation is given through song.”

“ _Song?_ ” Laurens asks. “How does that work?”

“Wonderfully, actually. Musicals are considered some of the greatest pieces of work of the modern era.”

“Huh,” Laurens mumbles, mollified.

“But before we get to watch, I think I should talk to some of you. There are showers beyond that door to your left, if anyone wants to clean up.” At blank looks from the group, Sebastian elaborates. “It’s a way to wash. Instead of a tub, water sprays from overhead. It’s perfectly safe. You’ll find labels on everything. Philip, if you would?”

Philip, after a moment, follows Sebastian into the doorway he came from. The soldiers, mainly and foremost Laurens, practically run to the showers, desperate to feel clean after weeks of dirt and sweat and panic.

“You’re from the future?” Philip asks once more.

“Yeah,” Sebastian grins. “And to them, you are as well.”

Philip runs a hand through his hair, twisting a lock of it at his nape. “I know. I...don’t know how to deal with it. My father is out there, wishing I didn’t exist. These men, Washington and Laurens, they should be _dead_ . Yet...they aren’t. And Laurens and my father...the way they _look_ at each other...I did not know.”

Sebastian places a hand on Philip’s shoulder, his eyes kind and his smile sad. “I’m sure this is all very confusing. I can’t even imagine it. But, you must understand, this gathering is for the betterment of all America. Things happened that never should have, and I’m doing my best to fix it.”

Philip looks at him, his eyes warm and determined. “What do you need me to do?”

The way Philip’s eyes rest on him, searing and focused, makes Sebastian’s stomach flip and suddenly he can’t imagine telling this young man that he is going to die in a few months. Instead, he says “Be cautious. Think before you act, and, for the love of God, don’t let yourself be goaded by arrogant aristocrats who think everything is handed to them at birth.”

Philip’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,”

“You won’t tell me?”

Sebastian hesitates.“You-you’ll find out today, in the musical. I’ll answer your questions then.”

Philip opens his mouth, closes it. “What time do they come from?”

Sebastian grins again. He really is Hamilton’s son: shrewd, smart, and outspoken. “1777.”

He can see the gears turning in Philip’s head. “Twenty-four years?”

“Yeah,”

“And Laurens, he only has five years?”

“...yes?” Sebastian doesn’t know why the young man is asking.

“What is the future like? For people...like them?”

Ah. That’s what he means. “In my time, everyone’s equal. No one is judged on the color of their skin or their gender or the love in their hearts, but rather on the content of their character.”

A smile is not what he expects. Philip’s shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you,”

“Philip…” Sebastian whispers, his eyes tracing the young man’s face, heart hoping. He manages to shake the thoughts from the dangerous place they are going. This man is dead. Stop these thoughts now, Sebastian. “C’mon, we should get back. I need to talk to Laurens.” But he doesn’t get very far.

Philip grabs his wrist, pulling him close, and stares into his eyes. Hesitantly he leans forward, planting his lips gently on Sebastian’s. Sebastian’s world narrows to the feeling of Philip’s lips on his, the man’s breath on his cheek, the brush of skin as Philip’s hand shifts lower to hold his own.

Philip pulls back slowly, disbelieving. “I’m-”

“Don’t apologize. Not for that. Never for that.” Sebastian says, almost fiercely.

Philip nods, looks down. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Sebastian laughs. “Well, that’s alright. I’ll tell you the truth,” he steps closer, inside of Philip’s space, and whispers into his ear, “You’re my first too.”

The way Philip looks at him after he says that causes Sebastian’s heart to leap into his throat. “Sebastian Miranda, you are a conundrum.”

“And you, my dear Philip, are an enigma.”

They gaze softly at each other for a few moments more, smiles wide, until Sebastian clears his throat. “Reluctantly, we must part. I really _do_ need to talk to Laurens.”

Philip frowns, sighs, releases Sebastian’s hand only to cup his cheek. “How am I supposed to watch this musical when all I want to do is watch you?”

Sebastian swallows, looks down before he crosses the point of no return, copies Philip’s movement. “Philip, do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I do now,” he answers, contrastingly giddy and sincere.

“Then there is nothing to worry about. We’ll figure it out.”

Philip nods, forces a smile, pulls away. “Ok. Let’s do this.”

Sebastian goes first and scans the faces for Laurens. He sees him talking to Lafayette, Mulligan, and Hamilton, and he hears snatches of their conversation as he walks across the room to them.

“-but the cost would be too great.”

“The cost? The institution is already a great mar across America’s transcript. Anything would be better than the present state.”

“My dear Laurens, while you are right, I must agree with Hercules and suggest we proceed with caution. There are many who would wish to oppose us-”

“Really, Alex? Are you telling me that _this_ is the one position you are cautious on? Of all the other positions you could back away from, you choose this one to slow down on?” The anger, so rarely roused from Laurens, builds, itching and hot.

“John, _you_ are at the front of this movement. I know the danger these zealots pose. What if they were to lash out at you?”

Laurens’ features soften in understanding. He doesn’t get a chance to respond though, because it is then that Sebastian steps near.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but may I borrow Mr. Laurens for a moment?”

Laurens glances subtly at Hamilton, who nods just as covertly. “Uh, sure.”

Sebastian smiles, offering his arm as Laurens stands and they begin to walk. “This way my good sir.”

Laurens looks at him. “Are you crazy, kid?”

His smile fades. “Sorry, I forget. I can’t even fathom the persecution of this time. It’s not perfect in my time, but it’s not _illegal_.” He shudders. “God, I would hate it.”

John purses his lips, takes in the information. “You are lucky.”

Sebastian smiles sadly. “I know. I am sorry.”

Laurens glances at him, sighs as they leave the line of the sight of the rest of the room. “It is nothing. What did you need to talk to me about?”

A forced exhale. “I...you die.”

A moment. “I imagine I do. We are human, it is our nature.”

“No, I-”

“Kid, it doesn’t matter. I’m a soldier. I’m fighting for the freedom of my country. I don’t matter, I’m just another body giving myself to a holier cause.”

“I-” Sebastian doesn’t know what to say. The raw intensity in his voice stuns Sebastian.

“Does Alexander live?” Laurens asks, the question just short enough to tell Sebastian that he is more affected by the news than he would like to admit. After all, Sebastian is from over two centuries in the future. By his time, everyone in the room would have died. So why would he talk specifically to Laurens?

“For several more years, yes,”

It’s an avoidance, Laurens knows this. “Was he happy?”

Sebastian answers the only way he can. “I don’t know.”

Laurens lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, nods. “Ok. Let’s watch this musical.”

He walks out, and it takes another minute before Sebastian can follow him out into the main room.

“Alright! Let’s get this show on the road! I see y’all have found the snacks and water, so we’re all good, yeah?”

There are murmurs of confirmation, and Sebastian smiles.

“Ok, quick things then we’ll start. The musical doesn’t claim to be historically accurate. It _tries_ , but well, a few things were changed for the purpose of artistic license. Besides, we couldn’t know everything that happened because, you know, time degrades knowledge. So if you have any bones to pick, send them my way. I know the playwright personally and I’ll tell him of any major grievances. The medium used to display the musical is projected onto a screen using electricity. Sound using the same energy is projected from spots around the room in order to make the experience more realistic. I also have a tendency to get invigorated by the music. Please don't be taken aback by that. Lastly, many of the cast are played by people of color. In my time, slaves have been freed, and all people of color can vote, as well as women.”

A whoop from Angelica and John, accompanied by, at the very least, tentative smiles from everyone but Jefferson.

“And many of them are my personal friends, almost family to me. So _please_ mister Jefferson, refrain from being too racist and abhorrent, would you?”

Affronted though he is by the personal insult, Jefferson remains quiet, the only sign of his dissent a low growl and the scowl on his face.

With that, Sebastian sits next to Philip and presses the remote to begin the musical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


	2. Chapter Two: Alexander Hamilton

A man appears on stage.

“Is he just a narrator, or is that an important character?” Angelica asks.

“It’s Burr, actually. Or, his actor, Leslie. He has an  _ incredible _ vocal ability.” Sebastian answers, scanning the faces around him for professions of prejudice. None come.

 

**How does a bastard, orphan son of a whore**

**And a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean**

**By providence, impoverished, in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?**

“Why thank you Burr, your affections warm my heart as always.” Hamilton mutters.

“I didn’t write this,” Burr shoots back, exasperated.

**The 10 dollar**

**Founding father without a father**

“And him?” Jefferson asks, his heart sinking. Is everyone in this musical going to be black?

“Laurens. And Philip. The role is doublecast.”

Philip raises his brows. “Strange people to double, no?”

Sebastian hesitates before shrugging. “I dunno. I don’t really think it’s important. Probably just random.”

Philip tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

A forced exhale. “Philip, just...you don’t want to know, ok? You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

They maintain eye-contact for a few moments more before Philip nods and looks away.

**Got a lot farther by working a lot harder, by being a lot smarter**

**By being a self-starter, by 14 they placed him in charge of a trading charter**

Ducking his head in embarrassment, Alex doesn't see the looks of pride that John, Washington, Lafayette, and Hercules give him before the next character steps up.

“That’s, actually this is pretty ironic, considering. That’s Lafayette,” Sebastian says, and they don’t get it: he receives only a proud smirk from Lafayette. He grins. “And Jefferson,”

The man splutters. “What? A Negro is supposed to portray me? Preposterous!”

Sebastian, whose demeanor up until this point has been quite light, growls and glares at the older man. “I’ll have you know that’s my uncle you’re speaking of.”

“So you’re a mulatto too?”

Sebastian flinches before he can tell himself not to. “Spanish, actually. From Puerto Rico. Daveed is not my family by blood, but I’d be proud if he was. He’s twice the man you are, with more honor and conviction than you’ll ever find in your own soul.”

“Why you little-”

“Jefferson, calm yourself. He’s just a boy. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Madison says, placing a hand on Jefferson’s shoulder to quite literally hold him down.

The rest of the room, most notably Hamilton and Laurens, begin to look at the boy in a new light, both because he stood up for something he believed in and also that the something was the equality of all persons.

**And everyday while slaves were being slaughtered and carted away**

**Across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up**

**Inside he was longing for something to be a part of**

**The brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow or barter**

“Mulligan. And Madison. Doublecast again.” Sebastian says without preamble.

**Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned**

**Our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain**

**Put a pencil to his temple, connected it to his brain**

**And he wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain**

Hamilton shifts uncomfortably at the memory and the pitying looks he’s receiving from all but Laurens. Laurens knows. Laurens always knows. He tells Laurens everything.

**Well the word got around, they said**

**"This kid is insane, man!"**

**Took up a collection just to send him to the mainland**

**"Get your education, don't forget from whence you came**

**And the world's gonna know your name. What's your name man?"**

 

**Alexander Hamilton**

**My name is Alexander Hamilton**

**And there's a million thing I haven't done**

**But just you wait, just you wait**

“This is Eliza, played by Phillipa Soo. She’s just about the sweetest person ever.”

Eliza looks at her counterpart on stage. The actress looks remarkably like her, especially considering the difference between most of the occupants of the room and their counterparts.

**When he was 10, his father split, full of it, debt ridden**

Oh. Burr had known Hamilton was an orphan, it had come up in some of their very early conversations. But he hadn’t known  _ that _ . The  _ shame  _ Hamilton must have felt.

**2 years later, see Alex and his mother bed-ridden**

**Half-dead, sitting in their own sick, the scent thick**

**And Alex got better but his mother went quick**

Alexander winces at the reminder. There were the looks.

“Alexander, I had-” Washington starts.

“I know. You weren’t supposed to.” Hamilton cuts him off, taking comfort in Laurens’ heat against his side.

**Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide**

No one has the heart to ask who this new character is, not with Hamilton fidgeting and not bothering to hide the way his nails dig into his arm. Sebastian doesn’t have the heart to interject, not with the suddenly very-real historical figures beside him, not with  _ Philip _ beside him.

**Left him with nothing but ruined pride, something new inside**

**A voice saying, "Alex you gotta fend for yourself"**

**He started retreating and reading every treatise on the shelf**

 

**There woulda been nothing left to do for someone less astute**

**He woulda been dead and destitute without a cent of restutition**

**Started working, clerking for his late mother's landlord**

Jefferson whistles lowly in admiration. Sure, Hamilton is an arrogant, loudmouthed sodomite who will never make it in this world, but even Jefferson has to admire the strength the kid had.

**Trading sugar cane and rum and all the things he can't afford**

**Scamming for every book he can get his hands on**

“That’s illegal, isn’t it, Hamilton?” Jefferson says nastily, his tone implying that such actions hadn’t been the only illegal crimes he’d committed.

“Oh shut up, Jefferson. Such was a different time. At least I have never  _ owned people _ .”

**Planning for the future, see him now as he stands on**

**The bow of a ship headed for a new land**

**In New York you can be a new man**

**Just you wait**

**(In New York you can be a new man) Just you wait**

**In New York you can be a new man**

**In New York (New York)**

**Just you wait!**

**Alexander Hamilton (Alexander Hamilton), we're waiting in the wings for you (waiting in the wings for you)**

**You could never back down, you never learned to take your time**

**Oh, Alexander Hamilton (Alexander Hamilton), when America sings for you**

**Will they know what you overcame?**

**Will they know you rewrote the game?**

**The world will never be the same, oh**

**The ship is in the harbor now, see if you can spot him**

**Another immigrant coming up from the bottom**

**His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him**

**We fought with him**

“Ha! A jeu de mots! This man is clever.” Lafayette exclaims.

Sebastian smiles. He will have to tell his father that the Marquis de Lafayette called him  _ clever _ . That will make his day.

**Me? I died for him**

The content expression on Hamilton’s face drops immediately. “What?” he asks sharply. 

Sebastian doesn’t know how to respond, not when Hamilton’s fiery gaze is directed at him, not when those same eyes are looking at him from the side, scared, because Philip has known Laurens would, will, die, but with what Lafayette has just said, could he die too?

Luckily, Sebastian is saved from answering by John. “Alex, calm down.”

“Calm down?” Hamilton guffaws. “I will not let you die!”

“I am afraid it is not your choice, for if this is true and I am to sacrifice myself for you, I would do so a hundred times over.”

Hamilton is shocked out of responding, but he doesn’t need to say anything. The sheer pride and love in his eyes is enough for Laurens to know that everything is alright for now.

Philip is not so easily mollified. “Sebastian? Was this what you didn’t want to tell me?” he asks, voice soft, scared. 

“Don’t worry about it now, my love. You will be fine. This is to change the future, remember?” Sebastian says, heart clenching at the vulnerability in the boy’s eyes. He doesn’t know how he managed to become so attached to this person so quickly, but he is here now, and he will not backtrack.

Philip nods and swallows, settling back into the cushions.

**Me? I trusted him**

“Oh! That’s you, Your Excellency sir.”

Washington nods in acknowledgement, turning to Hamilton. “I still do, Alexander. I always will.”

A warm but distant “Thank you, sir,” comes from Hamilton. 

**Me? I loved him**

Eliza and Angelica look at each other and blush. Sure, Alexander is cute. Maybe he's even more than that. And he's certainly very intelligent; there's a glimmer of warmth and empathy is his violet eyes. But  _ loving _ him? That is something they cannot fathom, especially now that they've seen his interactions with John. A relationship like that is too pure and deep to be broken by the whims of women, and they know that.

**And me? I'm the damn fool that shot him**

No one moves. No one says anything. No one can believe it.

**There's a million thing I haven't done**

**But just you wait**

**What's your name man?**

**Alexander Hamilton!**

 

Laurens turns slowly to Burr, who is only a few seats away, pale. “Burr. What did you  _ do _ ?” There is a growl in his voice that is rarely heard.

“I-”

“I swear upon all that is holy, if we change nothing else, it will be that you never step foot near Alexander again.”

Burr’s eyes are wide as he turns first to Hamilton then to Laurens and back again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Alexander. For whatever I do, I am so sorry.”

“For whatever you do? You  _ shoot _ him!” And suddenly Laurens is standing up,  _ this _ close to Burr, and Hamilton and Mulligan are having to pull him back.

“John! John, it’s ok, look at me. I’m here. I’m right here.” Hamilton says, cradling John’s face, for once not caring who sees them.

John is in his arms in a moment, clutching him. “You can’t leave me. Promise me you won’t leave me. Promise me…” he mutters, crying, repeating the words over and over again.

Alexander sits them down, rocking him back and forth just slightly. “I promise. I promise you, my dear. I’m not leaving,” And though normally Hamilton wouldn’t protest or care about news of his future death, for once he does. For once he actually  _ believes _ that he doesn’t want to die, if only for John’s sake.

Philip is shocked, angry, and the only thing that keeps him from going up to Burr and punching him is Sebastian’s hand on his shoulder keeping him grounded. The hand turns into an arm, until Sebastian is embracing Philip as he shakes from rage and grief. “It’s okay, Philip. It’ll be ok. We’ll change this. It’s ok.”

And having no other way to get the group to move on, even as he holds Philip, he presses play on the remote and the next song begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated. Have a wonderful day/night!


	3. Chapter Three: Aaron Burr, Sir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pauses in responses are deliberate.

**Seventeen seventy-six**

**New York City**

**Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?**

 

**That depends, who’s asking?**

 

**Oh, sure, sir**

**I’m Alexander Hamilton, I’m at your service, sir**

**I have been looking for you**

Philip laughs, the tense anger seeming to fall away almost at once as he sits up. It doesn’t. “Was it really like this when the two of you met?”

Hamilton doesn’t respond, but Burr, after a moment, nods. “Unfortunately, yes.”

**I’m getting nervous**

 

**Sir, I heard your name at Princeton**

**I was seeking an accelerated course of study**

No one says “Of course you were, Alexander,” or “What else is new?”, and even Jefferson holds back a derisive snort. No one wants to be the one to interrupt the tense, desperate stupor that blankets Laurens and Hamilton.

**When I got sort of out of sorts with a buddy of yours**

**I may have punched him it’s a blur, sir**

**He handles the financials?**

 

**You punched the bursar?**

Hamilton almost stops his litany of whispered assurances to exclaim that he has done no such thing, but decides against it. John is worth more to him than his pride, even if ultimately his words will ring false. They all have to die at some point.

**Yes, I wanted to do what you did**

**Graduate in two, then join the revolution he looked at me like I was stupid, I’m not stupid**

Jefferson doesn’t outright  _ say _ anything, but he can’t contain the scoff that leaves his lips and how his eyes roll.

Philip glares at him balefully but doesn’t respond either. He can see as well as the rest of them the state of his father and Laurens. Even if his father doesn’t want him, he refuses to leave him at the mercy of  _ Thomas Jefferson _ .

**So how’d you do it, how’d you graduate so fast?**

 

**It was my parent's dying wish before they passed**

**You're an orphan, of course I’m an orphan!**

**God, I wish there was a war**

**Then we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for**

“Excuse me, Mr. Hamilton?” Peggy asks, timidly, and Eliza nearly jerks her back against the couch they are sitting on. Doesn’t she  _ know _ what the man has just discovered?

He takes a moment to even notice her words, so absorbed as he is in Laurens, whose tears have dried but still refuses to let go of Hamilton’s waist. “Ms. Schuyler?” he responds kindly, if a bit shakily, turning to her.

“...why would you wish for war? It just means more death, doesn’t it?”

Hamilton smiles sardonically, directed not at Peggy but at himself. “Indeed, it does. I know better now.”

**Can I buy you a drink?**

 

**That would be nice**

“We all know you just want free beer, Alexander!” Mulligan laughs, too loud but not loud enough.

He gets a tentative shrug in response.

**While we’re talking, let me offer you some free advice**

 

**Talk less**

Lafayette laughs. “Mon ami, are you even capable of such action?”

Hamilton hides a weak smile in Laurens’ hair.

**What?**

 

**Smile more**

 

**Ha**

Laurens leans close to Hamilton, a glimmer of teasing coming back to his eyes. “He is right. Your smile is beautiful, mon coeur. You should smile more.”

Hamilton hides his blush in Laurens’ shoulder, not caring who notices. They’ve already seen too much, and besides, they’re here to change the future, aren’t they? Maybe they can change those laws too.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on how dolefully unlikely that is and instead resolves to talk to Sebastian about it when a chance arises.

**Don’t let them know what you're against or what you're for**

 

**You can't be serious**

 

**You wanna get ahead?**

 

**Yes**

 

**Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead**

 

**Yo yo yo yo yo**

**What time is it?**

**Show time**

 

**Like I said**

“Was that a threat, Burr?” Alex growls, raising his head from John’s shoulder to glare at the man.

The man flounders for a response, eyes wide. “No! I  _ like _ Laurens. It is probably just a literary device to hint at further developments.”

Laurens sighs, reluctantly uncurling his arms from around Alexander and moving away slightly to look him in the eye. Sure, he likes living, but as he told Sebastian, he doesn’t matter. What matters is the cause; what matters is Alexander. “Alex, please. It doesn’t matter.”

Alex looks at him, disbelieving. “Doesn’t matter? John-”

John shakes his head. “Ssh. I’m ok right now. That’s all that matters, yeah?”

**Show time, show time**

**Yo, I’m John Laurens in the place to be**

**Two pints o’ Sam Adams, but I’m workin' on three, uh**

Sebastian snickers before he can stop himself. At the looks from the occupants of the room, he hesitates nervously before he explains. “I was just thinking. How did you  _ not _ die of alcohol poisoning?”

Eliza throws her hands up in the air. “Thank you! You seem like fine young men, but alcohol in copious amounts can be extremely dangerous.”

Lafayette snorts. “I appreciate the sentiments, monsieur and mademoiselle, but you have never been a man staring death in the face. If you ever experience such a thing, then you may know why we drink.” 

Huffing, Eliza shares a look with her sisters. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of her  _ son _ , only a year or two younger than herself. He looks vaguely like his mother, with her nose and her smile, but everything else clearly belongs to the man sitting across the room from her, from his eyes to his hair and the freckles on his face. Philip acts like Hamilton too, though to be honest Eliza does as well, from what she has seen of the young soldier. Maybe Philip got his personality from both of his parents.

**Those redcoats don’t want it with me**

**'Cause I will pop chick-a pop these cops till I’m free**

 

**Oui oui, mon ami, je m’appelle Lafayette**

**The Lancelot of the revolutionary set**

**I came from afar just to say bonsoir**

**Tell the king casse-toi**

**Who’s the best, c’est moi**

Lafayette groans, burying his head in his hands. “They are mocking me,” he says, voice light.

Sebastian grins. “I’ll be sure to tell my father you approve.” He freezes. He does not mean to reveal such a fact.

“The playwright is your  _ father _ ?” Hamilton asks, surprised more than he is offended.

“Um, yeah. I sorta grew up with this music, with these lessons and when the technology came out,” he chuckles at his words. “Ha. Come out. Get it?”

He is met with blank stares.

“Ah, nevermind. Anyway, I figured that of all the people in history that could benefit from this, it would be you. So, here we are.”

**Brrrah, brraaah I am Hercules Mulligan**

**Up in it, lovin' it, yes I heard ya mother said come again**

**Ay, lock up ya daughters and horses, of course**

**It’s hard to have intercourse over four sets of corsets**

Everyone looks to Mulligan. Philip groans. “I did  _ not _ need to know that. You  _ babysat _ me. Lord help me.”

The room chuckles as Mulligan blushes.

**No more sex, pour me another brew, son**

**Let’s raise a couple more to the revolution**

**Well, if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college**

**Aaron Burr**

 

**Give us a verse, drop some knowledge**

**Good luck with that, you’re takin' a stand**

**You spit, I’m 'a sit**

**We’ll see where we land**

The revolutionaries react in much the same way their on-screen counterparts do,

“I didn’t say this!” Burr protests again. “This is an artistic representation!”

“But a true one, is it not?” Hamilton presses, lips jerking into a jeering smile.

**Burr, the revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?**

“See? Laurens agrees with me.” 

“Alexander, John Laurens agrees with you on everything.” Burr quips, rolling his eyes because really, Burr doesn’t care about what Hamilton does between the sheets, but does he have to act as if no one knows? 

**If you stand for nothing Burr, what’ll you fall for?**

 

**Oh, who are you oh, who are you oh, who are you?**

**Oh, who is this kid, what’s he gonna do?**

Lafayette smiles. “I remember that night. Herc and John and I were drunk and laughing and  _ you _ come in, Alexander, and John gets up and grabs your attention, invites you for a drink, and our group of three is now four. It was an interesting night.” The words are gangly and awkward in their structure, and, no matter how much Lafayette wants to deny it, it is abundantly clear that he’s only just learned English.

Mulligan chortles. “If by interesting you mean that we were left to drink alone while John and Alex-”

Philip exclaims suddenly, “I am _not_ hearing any of this,” promptly sticking his fingers in his ears and reciting loudly the first thing that comes to his mind. “There would have been a time for such a word. / Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day / To the last syllable of recorded time, / And all our yesterdays have lighted fools ”

And Sebastian falls a bit deeper into the abyss, his eyes reading the words off of Philip’s tongue like a sailor falls toward land. 

The other occupants of the room stop to listen to him as well, shocked at the emotion that rolls from the young man’s throat. Philip stops, looks at them sheepishly. “...sorry. Are you done now?”

Hamilton doesn’t quite glower at his son, but he looks away in irritation just the same. This doesn’t go unnoticed by John.

“Alexander, I know what you’re scared of, but I trust you. In this other life, I die. You would be expected to father a child. As a better man than me, you would stay with the mother and child; I know. It’s ok. Take this time to get to know your son.”

“John, I don’t-”

“Alexander, you may not get another chance. If we change the future… who knows what may happen? This could be your only chance to know Phillip. Please, push away your pride for just this once.” John says, eyes serious, voice gentle.

Hamilton is torn but he's been successfully admonished. “I...I’ll try.”

John nods. “Thank you. That is all I can ask of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated. Have a wonderful day/night!


	4. Chapter Three: My Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: in the 1930s, "temperamental" has another term for homosexual. Just something to keep in mind ;)

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**Hey yo, I’m just like my country**

**I’m young, scrappy and hungry**

**And I’m not throwing away my shot**

**I’ma get a scholarship to King’s College**

**I prob’ly shouldn’t brag, but dag, I amaze and astonish**

“My dear Alexander, I do believe that you just contradicted yourself,” Laurens says, a teasing grin playing at his lips.

“Shut up,” Hamilton mumbles, burying his face in the man’s shoulder.

**The problem is I got a lot of brains but no polish**

**I gotta holler just to be heard**

**With every word, I drop knowledge**

Jefferson snorts. “Are you sure about that?”

Alexander doesn’t reply, staying quiet but tense in Laurens’ arms, but Washington speaks for him. “Jefferson, that is _enough_. Alexander has been through enough, as we have already seen. Let him be.”

**I’m a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal**

**Tryin’ to reach my goal my power of speech, unimpeachable**

**Only nineteen but my mind is older**

**These New York City streets get colder, I shoulder**

**Every burden, every disadvantage**

**I have learned to manage, I don’t have a gun to brandish**

**I walk these streets famished**

Laurens tightens his grip on Hamilton. He comes from a life of privilege, rarely knew hunger or cold before the war, and he forgets sometimes that Hamilton didn’t have that growing up.

**The plan is to fan this spark into a flame**

**But damn, it’s getting dark, so let me spell out the name**

**I am the A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R we are meant to be**

“ _The_ Alexander?” Laurens questions him, nudging him slightly, a teasing grin on his face.

A sigh, just this side of exasperated. “I didn’t write this, John.”

“Hmm. You might as well have. Sebastian’s father seems to capture your arrogance perfectly.”

Alexander lets out a gasp of mock indignance before he laughs, leaning back against John. “Shut up, you know you love me.”

Suddenly all traces of humor are gone from Laurens’ face. “I do,” he murmurs, staring into Hamilton’s eyes. “I do,”

And if it was a different time, he would have answered a different question.

**A colony that runs independently**

**Meanwhile, Britain keeps shittin’ on us endlessly**

**Essentially, they tax us relentlessly**

**Then King George turns around, runs a spending spree**

**He ain’t ever gonna set his descendants free**

Washington nods in agreement. These men are young, but they are right; minds like theirs will raise this country’s foundation.

**So there will be a revolution in this century**

**Enter me, he says in parentheses**

**Don’t be shocked when your hist’ry book mentions me**

**I will lay down my life if it sets us free**

Philip looks at Alexander in shock but doesn't say anything. His position with his father has been made clear.

**Eventually, you’ll see my ascendancy**

**And I am not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**Hey yo, I’m just like my country**

**I’m young, scrappy and hungry**

**And I’m not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

Peggy hums along to the melody and notices, in shock, that Laurens is doing the same. He catches her eye from across the room and winks at her. She smiles.

**Hey yo, I’m just like my country**

**I’m young, scrappy and hungry**

**And I’m not throwing away my shot**

**It’s time to take a shot**

 

**I dream of life without a monarchy**

**The unrest in France will lead to ‘onarchy?**

**‘Onarchy how you say, how you say, anarchy?**

Lafayette groans, burying his head in his hands. “They are _mocking_ me,” he says again.

Hamilton grins at him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, “Oh I don’t know, I think it’s pretty accurate.”

Laurens nods in collusion, which surprises no one. But Mulligan joins in, wrapping an arm around Lafayette. “My friend, Hamilton is right. Your English was abhorrent.”

And for a moment the war sheds from them and they are young barely-twenty-somethings in a tavern.

**When I fight, I make the other side panicky**

**With my, shot**

 

**Yo, I’m a tailor’s apprentice**

**And I got y’all knuckleheads in loco parentis**

**I’m joining the rebellion 'cause I know it’s my chance**

**To socially advance, instead of sewin’ some pants**

“But Herc, I thought you _enjoyed_ tailoring!” Laurens says, mostly in jest.

Mulligan snorts and shakes his head, smiling with a grain of cynicism. “Even you would detest art if you had to listen to Tories chattering all day,” he says. The others can't deny that.

**I’m gonna take a shot**

 

**But we’ll never be truly free**

**Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me**

**You and I. Do or die. Wait till I sally in**

**On a stallion with the first black battalion**

Hamilton and Laurens whoop, looking for once like the young men they should be and not the war-weary men they must act as.

Sebastian laughs, not able to believe that the Founding Fathers are in front of him, acting like the kids they really are. Happy. He is not the only one to appreciate this. He looks to Philip, sees the energy sparking under his skin and in his eyes, and grips his hand.

Philip starts, looking at their intertwined fingers first in confusion and then in joy. He squeezes back, and Sebastian’s heart lurches.

**Have another shot**

 

**Geniuses, lower your voices**

**You keep out of trouble and you double your choices**

**I’m with you, but the situation is fraught**

**You’ve got to be carefully taught**

**If you talk, you’re gonna get shot**

Hamilton rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips tugging upward. “Again with the threats, Aaron?”

“But I’m not-” he stops. He looks at Hamilton, sees the teasing smile he’s struggling (and failing) to hide. “You’re joking.”

“Lighten up, Burr,” Hamilton tells him, smiling openly his way.

Laurens doesn’t really know how to react, barely refraining from glaring at Burr. He resolves to watch over Alex and keep an eye on what Burr says and does. He doesn’t trust the other soldier, not with what the man will do to Alexander.

**Burr, check what we got**

**Mister Lafayette, hard rock like Lancelot**

“Ah, I never knew you harbored feelings for me, Alexander! Why did you not tell me, mon ami?” Lafayette jokes, hand to his heart.

Alexander rolls his eyes good-naturedly, shoving his friend’s shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that.”

**I think your pants look hot**

Lafayette glances over at one of his best friends.“Really, Hercules, you _must_ make me some pants of yours sometime.”

“I’m not sure, Laf. Are you sure my skills are suitable for a nobleman such as yourself?” Hercules questions back, his ribbing masking just the hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“My friend, your skills as a tailor outmatch the finest seamstresses in all of France,” Lafayette responds, a proud, teasing look on his face.

His words get him an eye roll. “Thank you, my good friend.”

**Laurens, I like you a lot**

“Indeed I do, my dear John,” Hamilton says softly, nestling his head into John’s neck, closing his eyes to the warmth of his lover.

The South Carolinian blushes at his words, pulling Alexander closer than he already is until he’s practically in his lap.

They ignore Jefferson’s pointed glare their way.

**Let’s hatch a plot blacker than the kettle callin’ the pot**

**What are the odds the gods would put us all in one spot**

**Poppin’ a squat on conventional wisdom, like it or not**

**A bunch of revolutionary manumission abolitionists?**

**Give me a position, show me where the ammunition is**

Laurens smiles proudly. Their country succeeds at some point in the future; black men are up on stage portraying white men (especially true in Mulligan's case because come on he's _Irish_ ), and he couldn’t be prouder of the groundwork he and his fellow abolitionists have laid.

**Oh, am I talkin’ too loud?**

**Sometimes I get overexcited, shoot off at the mouth**

Washington raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes, Alexander? I'd say it's a fair more amount than _sometimes._ ”

Alexander knows enough to smile and nod, say “yessir,” and move on, not opening his mouth to say anything more. He can appreciate the irony.

**I never had a group of friends before**

**I promise that I’ll make y’all proud**

Jefferson scoffs.

It is only John’s grip on Hamilton and a whisper in his ear of “He’s not worth it,” that keeps Hamilton from leaping up and telling Jefferson exactly what he thinks of the man. Just a few hours ago, if you had asked him, Hamilton would’ve said he held a healthy deal of respect for the man who drafted the Declaration of Independence. Now, however, he believes the opposite. Since arriving in this room, instead of accepting it and learning from the experience like the rest of the room is doing, Jefferson has done nothing but rant, criticize, and whine.

John feels Alexander’s muscles tense, sees his fists clench. He covers them with his own hands and rubs soothing circles with his thumbs until Alexander calms and his hands loosen; he no longer cares if anyone notices, as they most certainly do. In this room, without the immediate threat of war and death, Alexander is his priority

**Let’s get this guy in front of a crowd**

At his counterpart’s words, John’s hold on Alexander squeezes momentarily. Hamilton smiles faintly, just this side of giddy. He was aware that John was a tactile person but _this_ , this unrestrained stream of touch, Alexander would give anything for that to be his life.

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**Hey yo, I’m just like my country**

**I’m young, scrappy and hungry**

**And I’m not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**Hey yo, I’m just like my country**

**I’m young, scrappy and hungry**

**And I’m not throwing away my shot**

Philip doesn’t know when he started, but at some point he began to mouth the words, humming along when he could. He notes with some surprise that his mother and aunts are doing the same, along with Lafayette and Laurens. Most of the room is, at the very least, tapping their toe to the beat.

Sebastian smiles, strangely content. If only his father were here. Lin would be beyond ecstatic, to see these figures _enjoying_ his music.

**Everybody sing**

**Whoa, whoa, whoa**

**Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa**

**Ay, let ‘em hear ya**

**Let’s go**

**Whoa, whoa, whoa I said shout it to the rooftops**

**Whoa, whoa, whoa said, to the rooftops**

**Whoa, whoa, whoa come on**

**Come on, let’s go**

**Rise up**

**When you’re living on your knees, you rise up**

**Tell your brother that he’s gotta rise up**

**Tell your sister that she's gotta rise up**

**When are these colonies gonna rise up?**

**When are these colonies gonna rise up?**

**When are these colonies gonna rise up?**

**When are these colonies gonna rise up?**

**Rise up**

 

**I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory**

Alexander frowns at the sudden change in tone, even more so that _he_ is the culprit; that the song is supposed to be fictional makes no difference: the thoughts are still true, and nearly everyone in the room is glancing at him with varying degrees of pity and worry.

**When’s it gonna get me?**

**In my sleep, seven feet ahead of me?**

**If I see it comin’, do I run or do I let it be?**

“You run!” Philip shouts, his passion loosening the inhibitions he's set against himself.

His friends nod vigorously, and even Jefferson looks at him strangely.

“Of _course_ you run, Alexander! What’s the alternative, just standing there as a bayonet charges toward you? You better not even _think_ of doing something like that!” Mulligan exclaims, twisting sideways to stare directly into Hamilton’s eyes.

Alexander has the good grace to nod and look down, though he looks up when he feels Laurens’ hands leave his. “John?”

“Alexander, look at me. Whatever happens to me, promise me you’ll keep going.” He’s being a hypocrite, but he doesn’t care.

“John-

“No, listen to me. The worst thing you could do to me is to greet me as I arrive at Heaven's gates or soon thereafter. I want to have to wait a long time before your touch is mine again, do you understand me?”

Hamilton nods. “Yes. But you won’t die. I won’t let you.”

Laurens smiles sadly at him. “My dear Alexander, I don’t believe you have a say in that.”

In lieu of a response, Hamilton changes their arrangement, making Laurens be held by Hamilton’s protective embrace.

Laurens does not object.

**Is it like a beat without a melody?**

**See, I never thought I’d live past twenty**

**Where I come from some get half as many**

Pitying glances are shot Hamilton’s way again. “Could you just _stop_?” he bursts, his annoyance tangible. “Yes, I had a bad childhood. I don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

The room nods awkwardly, forcing their eyes away from the man, all except Philip. Philip stares at his father, desperately wondering how to reconcile this insecure, rash, inconsistent young man with the gentle, sincere father he grew up with.

Hamilton looks up and sees Philip staring at him, but before he can say anything, maybe a “Hey, I guess you're not so bad, even though you remind me of the constrictions set upon me by society and the ever-looming death of the love of my life,” Philip averts his eyes.

**Ask anybody why we livin’ fast and we laugh, reach for a flask**

**We have to make this moment last, that’s plenty**

**Scratch that this is not a moment, it’s the movement**

**Where all the hungriest brothers with something to prove went**

Laurens looks to his left and to his right, at the friends and family he’s made over the last several months. The line is true. Alexander joined to rise to glory however he could. Hercules joined to find prosperity. Lafayette joined to prove to his family that he wasn’t just an aimless orphan. And John himself, well. He wasn't just a temperamental artist, no matter what his father said.

In any case, the call for national freedom was initially secondary to the longing for personal freedom each possessed. Now, of course, their singular goal is revolution. But it hadn’t always been that way.

**Foes oppose us, we take an honest stand**

**We roll like Moses, claimin’ our promised land**

“Ha,” Jefferson laughs. “Presumptuous of you, isn’t it?”

Madison shakes his head. He may be friends with Jefferson, for _some_ God-forsaken reason, but at the heart of the matter he agrees with Hamilton's politics. Not his actions certainly, as Jefferson's subtle power shifts are much more reasonable and effective, but he can't deny Hamilton's heart.

**And? If we win our independence?**

**Is that a guarantee of freedom for our descendants?**

**Or will the blood we shed begin an endless cycle of vengeance and death with no defendants?**

Sebastian pipes up, soft at first before he gains confidence. “It takes a little less than a century from your time until the freedom of slaves. Then another hundred years for true equal rights for blacks, though before that women finally gain the right to vote. My point is, it takes a depressingly long time, but it _does_ happen, and believe it or not America was, is, actually far ahead of many other countries. So, your efforts aren’t in vain.”

Philip nods in agreement. Obviously, he can’t attest to the truth of Sebastian’s words, but the revolution, whatever the long-lasting repercussions, _works_.

Washington is the first to react before his soldiers and then the rest of the room smile. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

**I know the action in the street is excitin'**

**But Jesus, between all the bleedin’ ‘n’ fightin’**

**I’ve been readin’ ‘n’ writin’**

**We need to handle our financial situation**

Philip snorts before he can stop himself, though he manages to refrain from speaking.

Alexander looks at him. Looks at John. Looks back. “What? What's funny?” he asks, trying to make his voice as gentle as he can. From Philip's face, he doesn't think he succeeds.

“Oh. Oh, nothing. No, nothing,” Philip responds, the words thick like poisoned honey in his throat. He can't bring himself to say anymore, even as his lack of a meaningful response leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sebastian looks at him quizzically, and Philip knows, just _knows_ , that the other boy can tell what he's thinking. But he just smiles anyway, shaking his head and nodding to the remote in Sebastian's hand. He'd paused it as soon as Philip had begun to make a sound, but now, at Philip's behest, he resumes.

**Are we a nation of states; what’s the state of our nation?**

**I’m past patiently waitin' I’m passionately smashin’ every expectation**

**Every action’s an act of creation**

**I’m laughin' in the face of casualties and sorrow**

**For the first time, I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow**

John grabs Alexander’s hand and doesn’t let go. He knows Alex suffered from depression even before the war: a curse the world’s greatest minds often have to bare. The conflict is only increasing the dark cynic in Hamilton’s mind, and John knows it, has been able to sense it in the distant stares and the late nights Alex insists on pulling; the late nights ultimately amount to nothing more than dark rings beneath his eyes and a burnt-out candle.

**And I am not throwing away my shot**

**I am not throwing away my shot**

**Hey yo, I’m just like my country**

**I’m young, scrappy and hungry**

Jefferson reluctantly finds himself nodding along to the music. It’s catchy, he’ll give the composer that. “Young Miranda, who composed this?”

Sebastian smirks proudly. “My father. He wrote the music, lyrics, and lines for this whole thing.”

“The whole thing?” Jefferson remarks, sounding slightly disbelieving as he leans closer to Madison. “Damn,”

**And I’m not throwing away my shot**

**We’re gonna rise up (time to take a shot)**

**We’re gonna rise up (time to take a shot)**

**We’re gonna, rise up, rise up**

**It's time to take a shot**

**Rise up, rise up, it's time to take a shot**

**Rise up, it's time to take a shot**

 

Peggy starts to openly sing at this point, and, after a moment of looking at her in amusement, her sister's join in for the end of the song, followed soon after by the Revolutionary set.

**Rise up, take a shot, shot, shot**

**It's time to take a shot, time to take a shot**

**And I am not throwing away my shot**

**Not throwing away my shot**

 

Their voices fade, the echo of it settling softly around the room before the next song begins without interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


	5. Chapter Four: The Story of Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, guys. I figured the characters might need a bit of a break from the emotional revelations recently. This was an attempt at such.

**I may not live to see our glory!**

 

“You  _ better _ ,” Alexander murmurs, leaning close to John.

His lover looks at him forlornly, not having the heart to contradict him. He wants to change the future as much as Alex does, but he knows as well as the next man that war costs lives.

 

**I may not live to see our glory!**

 

**But I will gladly join the fight!**

 

**But I will gladly join the fight!**

 

**And when our children tell our story…**

 

**And when our children tell our story…**

 

**They'll tell the story of tonight**

 

**Let's have another round tonight**

“No!” Eliza exclaims in frustration. “Goodness, no more drinking! Mr. Miranda, you didn't supply them with alcohol back there, did you?” she asks, gesturing to the mostly-forgotten snack table at the side of the room.

Sebastian is taken aback, to say the least. At least the stories were true, he thinks. Eliza Hamilton is, was, quite intimidating. “Uh. No, ma'am. I mean, we've got root beer but-”

“Beer?” Hamilton asks, head snapping up. The rest of the men in the room look intrigued as well.

“No. Uh, no. It's a carboni-well, it's this fiz-it's just a drink. Just this drink. No alcohol in it. None. Nope. Sorry,” Sebastian stammers, looking to someone for help but, of course, finding no one.

Philip stares unabashedly at Sebastian, watching as the boy blushes at the attention the rest of the room is giving him. “You, my Sebastian, are adorable,” he murmurs.

The whiplash would have been amusing if Philip had been able to focus on anything other than the endearing squeak coming out of Sebastian. “What?”

A light chuckle, barely heard. “I said, you're  _ adorable _ ,” he repeats, slightly louder and with more emphasis.

“Oh. Uh, thank you,” Sebastian says, for lack of a better response, blushing all the more.

“You are most welcome, mon coeur,” Philip says, a flourish in his voice and in his gesture as he inclines his head toward Sebastian, a grin on his face.

An awkwardly cleared throat from Eliza, surprisingly, reminds the two boys that they aren't alone. Sebastian starts, flushing again, and resumes the musical. He refrains from burying his head in his hands, resorting instead to groaning internally of embarrassment. If only his father could see him now.

 

**Let's have another round tonight**

 

**Let's have another round tonight**

 

**Raise a glass to freedom**

**Something they can never take away**

**No matter what they tell you**

**Raise a glass to the four of us**

 

**Tomorrow there'll be more of us**

 

**Telling the story of tonight**

 

**They'll tell the story of tonight**

 

**Raise a glass to freedom**

**Something they can never take away**

 

**No matter what they tell you**

 

**Let's have another round tonight**

 

**Raise a glass to the four of us**

 

**Tomorrow there'll be more of us**

 

**Telling the story of tonight**

 

“See, Alex, from what Philip displayed earlier, I doubt anyone actually wants to know about what happened that night,” Lafayette teases, the only hint to his jest a slight waver in his voice.

Alex groans, burying his head in his hands, face red. “That was  _ once _ , Gilbert! Once!”

John and Hercules share a look, grinning. “Wow, Alex, a ‘Gilbert’? Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Shut up,” Hamilton groans, moving his head to John’s shoulder.

A smug look is passed between John, Hercules, and Lafayette. They win.

 

**Let's have another round tonight**

 

**They'll tell the story of tonight (Raise a glass to freedom)**

**They'll tell the story of tonight (Raise a glass to freedom)**

**They'll tell the story of tonight (They'll tell the story of)**

**Tonight**

 

The drinking song is a welcome respite from the tension and heavy exposition delivered in the previous songs. Everyone's relaxed, even Washington, whose constant stresses coming from managing a ragtag army have finally alleviated themselves for the moment.

“I'm assuming the rest of this musical won't be like that?” Jefferson asks, eyebrows raised.

Sebastian laughs at the absurdity of it. “Ha! No, not at all. Enjoy act one while it lasts!” But then he inwardly sobers. He has to, occasionally, remind himself that these are real people. That “Laurens’ Interlude” will be up before even the first act is through and Hamilton will no doubt lose his mind. He's not as apathetic as he was about the man's death before; he’s  _ met _ him now. Not long after that “The Reynolds Pamphlet” and then, God,  _ Philip _ . He stops smiling.


End file.
